With Determined Passion
by witchfingers
Summary: 1600. Spain. 'Con pasión determinada'. She would be there for him whenever he needed it, given that it was a miracle that he hadn't left yet. [AU, Lust x Envy]


**Title:** With Determined Passion  
**Characters:** Envy, Lust, minor Wrath.  
**Rated:** T  
**Summary:** 1600. Spain. 'Con pasión determinada'. She would be there for him whenever he needed it, given that it was a miracle that he hadn't left yet. AU, Lust x Envy.  
**Words: **1761! _(I can scratch an item in my to-do list!)  
_**A/N:** And odd, **AU **Envy x Lust. I bet it's the first of its kind.  
Written to L'arc-en-Ciel's "Wind of Gold"... The title comes from the song 'With Determined Passion', sung by Yoh Asakura, whose seiyuu, Satou Yuuko, just happens to be Lust's seiyuu too.  
Sorry if I got the setting wrong. I'm not Spanish, I've just read a lot, hehe.  
OK, so I admit it. I DID base this on "El Capitán Alatriste"... T---T... THERE GOES MY ORIGINALITY ;---; ... well, I didn't stick completely to Alatriste's character, because then Envy would have been faaaaaaar too OOC...  
**PS:** There's a glossary at the end.

**With Determined Passion

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1600. Spain.

She fanned herself, under the scorching, unforgiving summer sun. She knew it was probably more than 35 degrees, hot, blazing, and yet she was there. And waiting for him, nonetheless.

From her lips escaped a pronounced sigh, and she crossed her hands over her exaggeratedly large chest. It wasn't helping the temperature, but she needed another way of showing the world that, that one time, she wasn't just "waiting in the corner" (like she usually did, and she wasn't in the littlest bit ashamed...); other than shoving off the occasional señor, or fulano(1), or whomever required her _services_ in that particular moment. Her delicately embroidered mantilla cascaded down her suntanned, uncovered shoulders, and fell in a gracious way over her back, covering the most of her rich, lustrous black hair. She arranged it so that it would fit properly over her overused peineta(2), at the time she ignored another gallant request for paid sex. Her luscious lips pursed, and the beauty mole she'd painted to the upper left of them followed suit, going upwards and adding to her whole mildly impatient look.

She raised her fan, and blew some air to her face. Her red dress appeared unscathed, not a bit of wind was blowing at that time of the afternoon, barely after midday. The dainty décolletage, which reached barely over her breasts, raised upwards and downwards, following her rhythmic breathing, as she tried to keep her mind off of thinking about how hot it was, even in the shade. It was a rarity that anyone who didn't go to the bullfights was out at that time. And even so, they wouldn't be starting until the weather had cooled down to some degree. The men who'd asked her for some quick distraction had some time to spare before the preparations for those said bullfights started. But, besides them, not a soul was out.

That was why they'd agreed to meet at that time. Until he could be sure that those loud, vulgar, and thoroughly corrupt government officials had lost track of him, he preferred not to risk his skin. But that wasn't a reason to make her wait eternally, in that heat that seemed to come from hell itself. Her wrist flickered to give the fan a little more speed. She did need the air, especially when her body was covered with so many layers of thick cloth, slips and laces. Her reddish-brown eyes surveilled the distant rows of houses and side-streets that surrounded the deserted square. The outline of a church interrupted the monotony of the earthy-colored outlines of the buildings against the unmarred blue sky. Her body rested against a warm brick wall, its eave sheltering her from the sun rays. As much as she desired to meet him, she was starting to consider going back to the relative coolness of the secluded tavern she worked at.

A familiar, sarcasm-dripping voice surged from behind her. It was at those moments she understood perfectly why _he _annoyed the government enough for them to want him out of the picture. "Hey hey, señorita(3)"

She turned round calmly, looking serious and not-amused. "Eh, Envidia(4). Took you long enough, eh?" Her lips' corners fell downwards.

Expertly, he grabbed her thin waist and pulled her towards him, the tips of his fingers appeared through holes in his weathered gloves, and made his touch even more pleasant to her. Who would wear gloves with that weather? One who lived by the sword, of course. Both of them were mercenaries, in a different way. They both lived by the names they'd given each other. Very against her will, she smiled slightly, seeing how his lips lingered close, tempting. "But I see you waited nonetheless, Lujuria(5)..." As her mouth made the space between them nonexistent, she whispered, "Drop it, my name is Carmen." He deepened the kiss, in that way she adored, and when they parted, with the desolate, warm plaza(6) as their background, a charming smirk played upon Envidia's face. "It's sad you say that, I thought you liked Lujuria better. _I _do."

Her keen eyes softened, her palm caressed his cheek all the way to his lower lip, taunting him with a seductive smile she knew wouldn't work on him. "Say it like that again, _Lujuria_. You know I can't resist it." The sensual, sticky sentiment she'd poured into her words gained her a deep, ablaze gaze from him. Taking her tanned hand, which she had stationed near his jaw, he placed it against his chest and kissed her again, all the while being conscious of being backing her against the wall, he smiled softly. The sun was shining strongly, almost vindictively. When she pushed him off of her, small drops of sweat trickled down her forehead and neck.

She didn't mind staring into his eyes for some minutes in which the heat became unbearable, even for him, who was already used to it. Those eyes of his, usually hid under the protective shadow of his ragged black hat's wing, had a strength, a determination, a _beauty_, she'd never seen before, and she'd looked a fair share of men to the eyes before. She wasn't completely sure of what it was that drew her so helplessly towards them, towards _him_ as a whole. If the emerald green eyes, the lean, finely toned body, the rough look, the raven black locks of hair... She didn't know, she didn't _need_ to know. All her painstaking 27 years of life were worth it when she was around him, and that should be enough.

"Let's go," he whispered into her ear, and turned round, being the decision so swift, so sudden she had not had time even to realize when he'd come to be so _close_ to her ear in the first place. She tugged at her mantilla with a sigh of resignation, and started following him slowly through one of the bleak side-streets, which very well deserved the denomination of callejuelas(7). They didn't come across much more than a couple of barrels, some piles of rubble. An occasional cat or two.

A short sword in a holster hang from a loop in his heavy leather belt, and his frayed black cloak oozed darkly with each step he took. She could guess metal shining, metal that undoubtedly belonged to a pistol, whenever he stopped and then started to walk again. That man before her, oh, how much did she wish he could be hers...! She could never have enough of the words he'd whisper late at night, never enough of his kisses, never enough of his soothing, keen touch, never enough of him. She _didn't_ want to have enough for him, then she could always claim a little bit more the next time they met and it would always feel like a first time.

He stopped at a corner, where, once more, the pistol between his clothes shone under the scorching Spanish sun. He'd only come to see her, to be with her, those clothes would eventually not be a barrier between them. It was a very womanish thing to do, she allowed herself to look at those weapons with a hint of resentment in her ginger brown eyes. He'd sell his swords, his guns. His skill. She'd sell her body. She indifferently tried to make herself believe that, after all, he was a mercenary, just like her. But differently. In that way, she was being nice to him, and conceding a small amount of redemption to herself.

Sending off a distant, pensive look towards her, when he spotted her eyes following him he replied with a smile, and started walking again.

A torero(8) leaning against the wall of a tavern made a courtly reverence, and, looking at Lujuria in the eye, claimed, "Señorita, this corrida(9) goes for you. Oleh!". She replied with a sensual, but almost mysterious lip-parting, and her dress frilled as she passed by him, in her desireful pursuit of her lover, Envidia.

The sun still scorched by the time they had arrived at his temporary _quarters_, if she should call them that way, to find Envidia's protegee (and conveniently enough, page), Ira(10), sprawled out on the bed, sleeping soundly. Scattered chaotically over the floor, were some inkwells, papers, and a small knife and vestiges of an apple. Envidia's lower lip twitched at the scene.

Lujuria keenly placed her hand over his shoulder, to keep him from waking up the kid, to whom she didn't profess a special liking (he was, generally, a brat), but didn't exactly hate either. She shook her head, and said, "Let's get another room."

Hands on hips, he followed her through a side-door. He found it ironic to think that, even if he was some good four years older than her, her maturity surpassed his greatly. Perhaps that was what made him keep coming to her, after all that time. Whenever he was in town, that is. The snag of being a free sword was that, one day he was there and the next he was gone. And even if she never stopped taking 'customers', she never stopped waiting for him either.

They stopped in front of a closed door, and he remained idle for a short while, until she opened it with a muffled clicking noise. He spread out his hand, showing her to go in first. She smiled slowly.

Outside of the wooden frame of the window, she could see the sleepy, dirt-colored city as if it were a mere painting by a monotone artist. All the houses the same, hurt by the heat and slovened by their slacky owners, whipped by the rain, and now and then, a languid tree that stood out of the uniformity. The sporadic church tower soaring over them.

Her eyes remained impassible on the view, even when she felt his burning lips against her tanned shoulder, even if she was liking it, even if she was irking for more. She knew _that_ was the way he liked it. He would keep coming back to her, because he felt she deserved his love even if she was just another whore.

No, she wasn't _just another whore_. She was different. She loved him, he knew, as much as _he_ loved her. She was there for him. What else could he ask for, what else did he _need_?

Her skin was delicious to the taste. The sun was scorching tem both by the moment she turned around, showing a pearly row of teeth hidden in a smile, catching his lips off-guard, with determined passion.****

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1 Señor, fulano: señor-nobility title, fulano-common person whose name is not important (LOL)**

**2 Peineta: like a comb, used to hold up the mantilla.**

**3 Señorita: Miss.**

**4 Envidia: Spanish for Envy.**

**5 Lujuria: Spanish for Lust. **

**6 Plaza: Square (like, those with trees... lol...)**

**7 Callejuelas: little streets.**

**8 Torero: The guy who stabs the bulls in the bullfights. The one with the red cape n.n"**

**9 Corrida: Spanish for bullsfight.**

**10 Ira: Spanish for Wrath**

**R&R!**


End file.
